Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 43024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 215(@200wpm)___ 172(@250wpm)___ 143(@300wpm)
He smiles as I talk. “You really do love your life.”
“It’s not perfect, but it’s mine,” I say as I finish the rest of my chili fries. “You were right, the fries make up for the lackluster burger and the beer.”
He glances at something in the corner, and I turn my head to follow his gaze. Beyond the mechanical bull where his friend won golden testicles, there’s an empty pool table.
“Do you play?” I ask.
“I love eight ball.” His eyes light up, and he stands. He pulls a few bills from his wallet, tossing them onto the table. “Come on. I’ll teach you everything I know.”
I open my mouth to tell him that the kind of man who names his daughter Ronald damn well makes sure she knows how to play pool. But then he takes my hand in his, and I melt at the casual touch. Who knows, maybe I can give him some pointers later.
Chapter 5
Ronnie
When we go over to the pool table, he points to the white ball. “That's the cue ball. We use it to shoot other balls into the pockets. We play stripes and solids. One of us is solids, one of us is stripes.”
“I think I’m following.”
“You want to sink all seven of your balls. You don't have to sink them sequentially. The only one that matters is that final eight ball. He can't go in till all seven of your others are sunk in the pockets. Got it?”
I study his face. There’s not a hint of arrogance in his expression and that alone determines how I’m playing tonight. I’m not going to show him up, not when he’s excited to share a game he’s passionate about with me. “I understand.”
“Don't let it intimidate you,” he encourages as he passes me the cue. He lines up the balls then comes up behind me. His hands ghost over mine as he shows me how to hold the cue. Then he’s leaning over me, guiding my shot.
With anyone else, I’d be annoyed. But Flint is too genuine in his enthusiasm to earn my anger. Besides, I like the way he keeps pressing up against me. I look at him after my ball sinks into the pocket, our faces so close that I could kiss him if I wanted to. “I did it.”
He grins. “Yeah, you did. What you want to do next is analyze which ball is going to be easiest to put in the pocket. Later, I'll teach you more about the strategy, but for now, just focus on getting all of your balls in the pocket.”
“So, then I’ll go for number ten next,” I say since it’s one a beginner would choose.
“Yeah, go for it,” he says.
I sink another ball with his help. I love the way he’s holding me as we slowly play through the game. And yeah, maybe I throw it so he wins. I am supposed to be a beginner after all.
When it’s over, there’s no smugness or gloating from him. Instead, he says, “You did great for your first time.”
“I want to go again,” I tell him. I don’t care about the ruse anymore. I just like the way he’s always touching me and the way he smells so nice. Playing with him is making my panties damp and my body so turned on.
“Yeah, let’s play another one.”
Before I can answer him, a couple of men approach the table. They’re both dressed in grimy T-shirts and stained blue jeans. One with a baseball cap featuring the outline of a sexy woman glares at us. “Or here’s an idea. Y’all just get a room already and stop hogging the table.”
Flint’s gaze barely flicks to them. “Move along. We’re playing a game here.”
The man with the baseball cap snorts. “Well, if you want a real game, cowboy, dump the little girl and play with the big boys.”
“How about if I play you instead?” I ask.
“You want to play?” He challenges in a belligerent tone.
“Why not?”
He looks to Flint as if asking Flint’s permission for the game which pisses me off.
“Unless you’re intimidated,” I add.
Flint holds up his hands, but I can see the fierce look on his face. It fills me with extra confidence to know he has my back.
He makes an indignant noise. “The two of us against the two of you. Winners get the table.”
“Just you and me,” I counter.
My challenger wastes no time setting up the rack. He points to it with his cue. “You first.”
I break, watching the balls scatter as two solids sink. In less than two minutes, I’ve run the table with an expert precision that surely has my father applauding from his seat in the afterlife.
When I get to the eight ball, I look up at the stranger and sink the ball with a smirk.
His face is red and blotchy when he glares at his friend. “Beer’s always warm here anyway.”